“I want my daddy.” It was the first time Marilee had mentioned him since Elizabeth had first seen the little girl in Trini’s small house on the ranch. Her heart had gone out to the silent child who had trembled when Elizabeth had stopped at the small foreman’s house after she and her father moved in.

Trini had kept her hidden, in fact, for several weeks, afraid that she would be ordered away, and the child with her.

Then Trini had died and Marilee had suffered still another loss. How much could a child bear?

Elizabeth was determined to protect her as much as possible.

Was she doing that by keeping her away from the man who claimed he was her brother?

If only he hadn’t looked like the worst of renegades.

She looked up at the grandfather clock. Afternoon. When would the man who called himself Sinclair return? Could she stay here without any help? Would he bring others when he returned?

Her father had been gone half a day, more than enough time to see to his errand and return. But she knew him too well. Once in town, he often became involved with others. He was a gregarious man who loved stories and an audience and he often forgot about time.

She reluctantly made the decision to go into town. But she didn’t want to take Marilee with her. The road was too dangerous. If they were caught out alone…

“Let’s go see Robert,” she suggested to Marilee.

Robert was the son of a neighboring rancher, another newcomer. Elizabeth refused to think of either of their families as carpetbaggers, the derogatory term that had often been thrown at them.

All the other children shunned Robert. Marilee, who instinctively was for the underdog, had become his good friend.

Marilee’s face brightened. “Can I?”

“Of course. I need a few things in town and I’ll fetch you on the way back.”

“Will you bring some peppermint candy?”

“Always,” Elizabeth said.

The thought of her favorite treat, and a few hours to play with Robert, was obviously a partial cure. Marilee fetched her bonnet as Elizabeth went down to hitch the horse to their buggy. She added the shotgun at the last moment. It would be more effective than a rifle if they ran into trouble.

In minutes, they were on the road. She had been forced to use Ornery, a horse well named for his stubborn ways. But today he had been unusually cooperative, probably due to the apple she gave him.

Miriam Findley, Robert’s mother, was delighted to see them and readily agreed to keep Marilee for a few hours. “Be careful,” she warned. “Bud Garner was stopped and robbed last week. Rebels, he said.”

“I’ll be careful,” Elizabeth said. “I have a shotgun with me.”

“I’ll send Mr. Findley after you if you aren’t back by sundown.”

Elizabeth nodded her thanks and got back on the buggy. Marilee had run inside to see Robert. “By the way, I had a visitor this morning. He said his name was Seth Sinclair. He looked like a saddle tramp, though.”

“Another Sinclair. Oh, Elizabeth, I don’t think you should go alone.”

“I’ll be fine, truly I will,” she said. “I want to tell Major Delaney, though, and the sheriff.”

Miriam Findley looked doubtful. “I hate this country. I told Mr. Findley I want to leave.” She always called her husband Mr. Findley. Never just Gary.

“Oh, don’t. Please. It will get better.”

“It’s a hellhole,” Miriam said, then backed away, her face flushing as if she’d said something she shouldn’t. “Be careful.”

Elizabeth couldn’t argue. She loved the country. She loved the streams and the hills and the wildflowers. But the hate among the Texans was an open wound, deep and festering.

She snapped the reins and Ornery stepped quickly through the gate and onto the main road. She glanced down at the shotgun at her feet. Her father and she had both learned to use both rifle and shotgun during their first weeks here. She hated the weapons but she’d learned to conquer those feelings in the past several months.

After a mile, she relaxed. The day was lovely. Light clouds shaded the sun and a breeze cooled the usually hot temperatures. Bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush colored the hills.

A sound of a gunshot shattered the silence. Its report echoed in the hills and bounced back. The horse’s ears went up, then he jerked in the harness.

Elizabeth tightened her hold on the reins as another shot ripped across the hills. Then a loud ungodly yell.

Her heart thundered as she glanced behind the buggy. Four masked men approached from the east.

She snapped the reins to speed the horse, then realized she didn’t have to. Ornery bolted and raced down the road. She didn’t know whether to try to pull him up or to allow him his head while she just held on for dear life as she heard the riders closing in behind her.

The yell again. It sent cold shivers over her. She’d heard that cry once before when night riders had descended on the ranch. They’d been chased off by federal troops but not before they had nearly set the barn on fire.

She’d witnessed the fear of their hands, who had taken refuge in the house. They’d heard the rebel cry. It was enough to terrify anyone. She and her father lost most of the hands the next day.

The buggy lurched ahead, the horse running in blind panic. All efforts to pull back on the reins yielded nothing.

The riders caught up with the buggy, riding alongside, shooting into the air. The buggy swayed from side to side along the road and she had to grasp the side to keep from being thrown out.

The intent of the riders was obviously to cause an accident. She didn’t know whether they were after her, or her father. Until now, the sides of the buggy would have shielded her from sight, but everyone knew the buggy. They used it to go to church and for trips into town.

It didn’t matter who they were after.

She hung on to the reins, even as her left hand clutched the side of the buggy. She continued to pull back on them, but her slight strength was nothing compared to the power of the horse’s fear.

She should have stayed at home. She knew that now. She had the protection of walls there.

But she hadn’t been ready to give up Marilee, not after working so hard to scare away the demons that haunted the child.

The buggy bounced and rocked as the horse ran headlong, spurred by continuing shouts and gunfire. Stay on the road. Stay on the road.

She glanced at the shotgun on the floor next to her. She couldn’t reach for it without letting go of the side of the buggy. Nor would she be able to use it as the buggy careened back and forth.

They could see her now. They had to know she was a woman. Two of them fired again. The buggy swerved and almost toppled and she stifled a scream.

I’m going to die.

More shots, this time from a different direction. The riders around her broke off and raced away.

But her horse didn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop now until he dropped. The buggy would never last that long. Her body jolted as the wheels hit a rut in the road.

She closed her eyes, uttered a prayer, then opened them again.

A horseman passed the buggy and rode close to Ornery. He leaned over and his hand caught the harness.

He was going to fall. No one could stop a horse galloping as Ornery was doing. The figure moved from his saddle onto Ornery’s back, his hands pulling at the traces.

The buggy slowed and after what seemed like endless moments came to a stop.

She had seen the pinto before. The animal had been at her well just hours earlier.

Its rider looked different. He had washed, changed clothes, shaved. She wouldn’t have known him if it hadn’t been for the horse.

He turned, one leg resting on Ornery’s back as the horse snorted and foam flew from his mouth. Sinclair soothed the hindquarters, and he whispered something soft to the animal. Ornery quieted.

Then the man looked at her. “Are you all right?”

She had to think about that for a moment. Or perhaps she was just too stunned by the change in him.

He’d been a saddle tramp before. Bearded. Unkempt. Dirty. It had been easy to dismiss him. Almost. Her conscience, which had been compromised far too often recently, assaulted her.

Something else did, too. Something just as powerful. She felt as if she had just been hit by lightning.

He was one of the most attractive men she’d ever seen. He’d lost his hat, and his hair, which had looked dark this morning, had obviously been washed. Its bronze color glittered in the sun. Dark blue eyes were piercing in a lean, almost gaunt sundarkened face. Unlike Delaney’s indulgenceswollen face, this man looked honed by pain. The renegade she’d glimpsed earlier was still in the fierce eyes, but a hero had just saved her.

He waited for her answer.

“I think so,” she said, dismayed to hear the tremor in her voice. “Yes, of course I am,” she added, trying to force steel into it. “Thank you,” she said belatedly. “But I really could have stopped Ornery…”

A raised eyebrow stopped her words in midsentence. “Ornery?”

“He comes by the name honestly.”

One side of his mouth twitched, though she had the impression he really didn’t want her to realize it. In one easy movement, he jumped from the horse onto the ground. Without paying any attention to her, he tied his pinto to the back of the buggy. He swung up into the driver’s seat, forcing her to move.

“My horse needs the rest,” he said shortly. “He’s not up to running like that.”

His presence overpowered her. Pure raw masculinity made him appear far larger than he was.

His knee brushed hers and she felt as if she were in the way of a prairie brush fire. Her body reacted in new ways. Hot and greedy, and aching with longing.

His gaze hadn’t left her. “You were saying you could have stopped the horse,” he said.